


baby i'm in love with possibility

by moniker (clawsandsympathy)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Bisexuality, Canon Bisexual Character, Coming Out, Drag Queens, Gen, M/M, Other, Self-Discovery, Stiles is Willow, Television Watching, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawsandsympathy/pseuds/moniker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Stiles said without paying attention, and one time he realized he meant them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby i'm in love with possibility

**Author's Note:**

> I am not the first person to note that Stiles is totally Willow (e.g. the excellent [Muerdago](http://archiveofourown.org/works/517905) by starbolin). 
> 
> This entirely self-indulgent story would never have happened without the enthusiastic encouragement, nearly infinite patience and incomparable editing skills of the indefatigable Peridium, the Virgil to my Dante. 
> 
> Title and section headings from "American Television" by Ben Lee.

**5\. waiting for a sign to move**

Lydia is the only one who can achieve a stalemate in a staredown with Derek, which is how Stiles finds himself entering Derek’s actual house with actual electricity one Thursday afternoon shortly after summer break begins. Of course, though he shows up ready to do research on the alpha pack, Lydia, Scott, Allison and Isaac are watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ with varying degrees of interest. Scott seems primarily interested in nuzzling Allison’s neck. Ew.

“Hey, guys, weren’t we gonna do research? You know, alpha pack? Preventing our imminent demise? Any of that ringing a bell?”

“This _is_ research!” Isaac insists.

Lydia adopts the excessively vapid tone of voice she uses to deliver insight. “Exploration of popular culture representations of the supernatural.” She bats her eyelashes at Stiles, who may or may not feel a little swoony.

“Huh.” Stiles grabs a seat at the end of the couch, because it’s not like he has any useful information to share, anyway. But by halfway through the first fight scene, his resignation has grown into a kind of stubborn irritation that will not be ignored.  He gets up for a glass of water, asking the room at large, “Is anybody else having trouble with this? I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t really have that much time--or the extra _breath_ \--for this much snarking when I’m _fighting for my life_. Which, you know, we’re probably going to be doing again soon if we don’t figure out this whole alpha pack thing. The Internet is no help at all. Anything potentially useful is buried in a deluge of fanfiction about Professor Lupin from Harry Potter, or worse, freaking Twilight.”

When he comes back in, water in tow, Scott is chuckling as Allison says, “Stiles is totally Xander. Right, Lydia?”

“I am the token male human, it’s true,” Stiles acknowledges, despite the fact that he is not Lydia.

“No, I think he’s Willow,” Lydia says. “Xander doesn’t _do_ much beyond comic relief. He’s actually kind of a moron. Willow is usually actually helpful and sometimes she’s funny.”

“Gee, thanks,” Stiles says dryly. “But if I’m Willow, where’s my hot werewolf boyfriend?” It’s meant to be a joke, but it maybe doesn’t merit the kind of hysterical laughter that Allison is frantically choking back, and Lydia just looks inexplicably smug.

This can only mean one thing. “Angel snuck up behind me again, didn’t he?” Allison lets out a shriek of laughter and immediately covers her face. Stiles actually recognizes Lydia’s expression as one he makes when Scott is being particularly un-thoughtful--being on this end of it, Stiles leans way back on the couch and Derek’s upside-down and extremely nonplussed (and stubbly) face comes into view. Stiles lifts a hand and waggles his fingers, smiling winningly, because what else can he do?

“I stand by my original statement,” Allison chokes out helplessly.

 

**4\. i got nothing to say (i got something to prove)**

When his dad leaves for work the next night, it seems silly for Stiles to keep working on his job applications in the empty house when Derek’s place is a five-minute drive away. He’s still not really over the novelty of Derek having a house when he lets himself in with the key he copied from Scott’s. Stiles hears Carl Sagan drifting in from the living room, but by the time he finds Lydia sitting on the actual couch in front of the actual television, it’s showing a kind of short blonde guy in a leather jacket smoking a cigarette and looking angsty. Lydia, who’s painting her nails, looks up at Stiles with annoyance when he jostles her as he sits down. Limbs, what are they even.

“Hey, Lydia. Oh, hot guys in leather jackets. Don’t we get enough of that in real life? Speaking of which, does being immune to lycanthropy supersede being an Alpha or does Derek just like you? 

Lydia arches a devastatingly perfect eyebrow at him and goes back to painting her nails. Stiles rummages through his bookbag for the job applications he picked up this morning and continues, “I mean, a month ago, Derek is splitting his time between various hovels, puppies in tow. Now,” Stiles pulls out a pen and gestures expansively with it, “Coffee table. The fridge has an icemaker built in! And all because of one conversation you had with him which was, admittedly, terrifying. If brief.”

Lydia had looked around the abandoned subway station and told Derek, “You need a house.” He’d given her a glare that made Stiles wince internally, even with all the exposure he’d had, but she’d held his eyes until he growled out, “Fine.” As Stiles leans over the coffee table to begin filling out the application for the video store, it occurs to him that maybe Lydia reminds Derek of Laura. Stiles’ self-preservation instincts have markedly improved over the past several months, so he keeps that thought to himself.

He gets through filling out his basic personal information before he makes the mistake of looking back up at the TV, where Broody Guy is talking awkwardly to a skinny brunette girl around the cigarette in his mouth. Stiles is weirdly transfixed.

“You know, sexual orientation wasn’t even a _thing_ until, like, a hundred and fifty years ago.”

Stiles whips his head around so fast his neck kind of hurts, but Lydia gives no indication that she’s anything other than entirely engrossed in painting her nails. His pen slaps wetly against his neck, which--huh. He hadn’t even noticed he was chewing on it. Stiles isn’t even really sure she spoke at all, but after he gapes for a few moments, Lydia looks from him to the TV, then back at Stiles. Stiles knows her expression is totally, like, imbued with meaning or whatever, but he can’t figure out what it is.

 

**3\. oh me oh my**

Stiles is deeply absorbed in pondering his cereal options and exhausted after a night spent falling down the Wikipedia rabbit hole of “queer studies,” which, in addition to being mostly incomprehensible, isn’t that a slur?--when a hand snakes around his waist and squeezes as an unfamiliar, decidedly masculine voice whispers, “Hey, honey muffin,” in his ear.

Stiles startles, not merely dropping but actually kind of throwing the two boxes of cereal he’s holding, and nearly trips in his efforts to get away from the strange guy who just _molested him at the grocery store_. “Do I know you?” he--definitely does not shriek. He... growls. In a manly way.

The other guy pouts with pretty much his whole body, relaxing his posture so one hip tilts lower than the other and kind of looking at Stiles through his eyelashes and it’s a very small group of people that has any interest in calling him ‘honey muffin’ and “Oh shit, Stella?” This dude in khakis and a Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt is Stella Luna, who was one of the first to respond to his text about Lydia’s party. Drag queens seem kind of ageless when they’re all done up, but this guy really can’t be older than 23. He’s probably been home for summer break from college since before the night at Jungle with the kanima. 

“It’s actually James out here in the real world.” He smirks, stooping to help Stiles gather his now slightly damaged cereal boxes. “What’s up with you, man? I’ve been trying to get your attention for like ten minutes.” He seems concerned but not pissed, for which Stiles is grateful, given that it’s been weeks since Stiles was in touch. He hadn’t been sure how to say ‘sorry I invited you to a high school party where the punch was spiked with hallucinogens’ so he mostly didn’t say anything to any of the girls. Not that James looks anything like a girl now.

“A successful trip to the grocery store requires a state of laser-like focus.” That sounded much less dorky in his head. “I mean, I have to make sure my dad eats well, it’s just the two of us, and...” he trails off, gesturing at the general chaos of the grocery store, hoping Stella-- _James_ \--can intuit his meaning.

James smiles easily despite, and hopefully not because of, Stiles’ awkwardness. “No worries.” Without the lipstick and the terrifying eye makeup, his smile is a lot less predatory.

To his horror, Stiles immediately blurts out something to that effect. “Your smile’s really nice without all the...” He motions to his own face.

James’ eyes narrow. “I thought you said you were straight.”

“Uh, I am?” Stiles is not really sure why it comes out as a question.

James just sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll let you get back to it. It was nice running into you, Stiles.”

“You too, James. Have a nice night.” 

 

**2\. gimme joy, gimme emotion**

Stiles has possibly never been more grateful to see Jackson in his life than when he comes into Video 2*C toward the tail end of Stiles’ shift three nights later... right up until he opens his mouth. “Man, I can’t believe anyone actually _hired_ you, Stilinski,” he says, eyeing Stiles’  uniform polo with distaste. To be fair, it’s kind of baggy and hangs weirdly and was probably last worn by a dead guy, which Stiles is _really trying not to think about._

“Yeah, it turns out nobody really wants to work at a store where an employee was recently horrifically killed by a wild animal, even after extensive renovations,” Stiles quips, then immediately feels bad when Jackson goes a little pale. “So, uh, need help finding something? They moved a lot of stuff around with the renovations.”

Jackson manages to look both moderately appeased and chagrined. “Lydia wants to watch _The Notebook_ again,” he grumps.

“Say no more, my man. There is only so much dripping-wet Gosling a guy can be expected to take.” Stiles nods sagely.

“Do you even hear the shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes?” Jackson asks.

Stiles isn’t even really sure what he said that was so remarkable. “Eh, it’s mostly just white noise. Dramas are over there, in the third aisle back, alphabetical order,” Stiles waves an arm vaguely in the right direction. “Lydia’d probably like _Notting Hill_ , too¡--it’s mushy pining crap like _The Notebook_ , but at least it’s different crap?” 

Jackson gives him a wary look and actually says, “Thanks.”

Will wonders never cease.

 

**1\. now we own the boulevard**

Stiles is mostly ignoring whatever Scott is saying, distracted by Erica and Isaac’s truly epic game of Mario Kart, when Derek descends from upstairs in a bloodstain-free button-down shirt and jeans. Even with the omnipresent leather jacket, he looks easily 20% less tragically broody than usual. It’s kind of a good look on him. Erica evidently agrees, if her whistle is anything to go by.

“Wolf whistle. Nice.” Stiles chuckles, reaching out a fist for Erica to bump. She does, because she is a good bro. “Seriously, though, what’s with the _She’s All That_? Got a hot date tonight?” Stiles isn’t sure why his heart rate kicks up but he feels it, wonders if Derek (and everyone else in the room) can hear it.

Derek scowls, unsurprisingly. “I’m meeting with Argent to discuss the alpha pack.”

“I don’t know, he’s kind of a silver fox, don’t you think?” Stiles isn’t really sure where that one came from, but it has the desired effect of causing Derek’s scowl to deepen. “C’mon, Erica, back me up.”

Erica does not, in fact, back him up. Instead she tosses her hair and mutters, “I can’t believe I ever had a thing for you.” Stiles thinks about revoking her ‘good bro’ status, but then she leans back on her elbows so Stiles can see almost all the way down her shirt. It’s really a mixed message.

Derek’s face speaks volumes about his displeasure with the entire conversation once Stiles drags his eyes back to it, and he seems to mostly be addressing Isaac when he says “I’ll be back by ten.”

When the door closes behind Derek, Stiles is still grinning and Scott is looking at him quizzically. It’s disconcerting, so Stiles redirects. “So what movie are you and Allison going to see?”

 

**0\. dropped off our fear at the junkyard**

Allison loves _Buffy_ way too much for entirely predictable reasons, and Lydia found a drinking game online, so the next time Ms. McCall has the night shift, Stiles finds himself at Scott’s place with Scott, Allison, Lydia and the season 4 DVDs. Things get pretty sloppy pretty quickly because it turns out those kids in Sunnydale say “vamp” a lot. One minute Stiles is saying, “I just don’t understand what Buffy _sees_ in Riley. He’s like _wallpaper_! Muscular, beige wallpaper,” gesticulating wildly with his plastic cup of wine, “Angel is so much better..” and then suddenly Willow is kissing Tara and Stiles can’t _breathe._

“Stiles? Buddy? You okay?” Scott is asking, but Stiles can’t answer, his face muscles won’t _move,_ and even if they would he wouldn’t know what to say. That never happens. “Haha, I think Stiles is enjoying this a little too much.”

“No, I really don’t think he is,” Lydia says, sounding almost sympathetic. Allison’s only contribution is a sleepy noise from where she’s wrapped around Scott, which means she’s going to insist on re-watching this episode tomorrow, _oh god._

When the episode ends, Stiles is still frozen, brain helpfully compiling a montage of the times he’s asked Danny if he’s attractive to guys, how his eyes seem to move on their own in the locker room to where he knows he shouldn’t be looking but doesn’t know why he wants to, what it felt like to stand on the edge of the dance floor looking for the kanima and wondering what made him different from the men he was seeing, other than his first-hand knowledge that monsters are real. Stiles always thought the jokes about making out with Scott or whatever were just _jokes_ \--but if half of what you say when you’re joking is actually true, well. 

“Maybe I really am Willow.” Now would be one of those times when a brain-to-mouth filter would be really freaking handy. It comes out slurred, but Scott is (A) sober and (B) in possession of extreme werewolf hearing, so it’s no surprise that he turns toward Stiles.

It’s even less surprising when he asks, “Dude, are you saying you’re bi?” with his usual lack of tact. Stiles’ eyes dart to him, and then to Lydia, who is watching him calmly, even sleepily, eyelids bobbing to half-mast and back not unlike his own.

He closes his eyes. It’s like he didn’t even know there was this puzzle until all the pieces started coming together. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“You’ve really never thought about it,” Lydia says, somehow making it both a question and a statement.

“No. I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never really _thought_ about it, you know? So...how can I be bisexual?” he asks, dragging out the “ow” sound. It reverberates around his head, distracting him from the way ‘bisexual’ sounds foreign, more like the name for a monster than a thing that might apply to him.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” When Stiles looks at Lydia, her head is tilted in that way that is half endearing and half totally creepy.

Stiles tries again. “I can’t be bisexual, I already have ADHD and a dead mom and a werewolf best friend!” His voice sounds shrill and bitter, like it’s coming from far away and might not even belong to him. But Lydia just looks even less impressed with Stiles than usual. 

“How are any of those things related?” It’s a question Stiles can’t find the words to answer, because it feels self-evident--he can’t do anything but _look_ at Lydia, and at Scott beyond her, and he has no idea what his face is even _doing_. Things are starting to make sense that he didn’t even realize didn’t make sense and he’s beginning to feel shame layering in over the panic that makes him kind of just want to curl up and die. 

Lydia’s vacant gaze sharpens on him and he feels impossibly worse, split open in front of the person he has most wanted to impress for so long. “Look. You’re a good guy, Stiles, and more than that, you’re smart enough to see how smart I am when most people...” She sighs dramatically, shakes her head a little. The wine and the glow of the TV set make her hair all shimmery and that, at least, is familiar. “Anyway. Smart people make mistakes too, but when we realize we’re making them, we _stop making them._ ”

Stiles doesn’t really know what to say to that, but it’s Scott who ends up speaking. “Dude. Remember how you figured out I was a werewolf way before I did? This is kind of... a lot less obvious than that was.”

Stiles sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah, I... yeah.”  There’s a beat of silence that Stiles might find awkward if he weren’t so tired down to his bones, but as it is, he just lets himself _be._

Then Lydia’s brow furrows. “Wait. He _what._ McCall, I cannot believe you.” And then they’re all laughing, and Allison is making vaguely irritated noises at having her sleep disturbed, and everything is okay.


End file.
